Shakespeare in Love Page #8

Why dost thou stay?

Which way ran he that killed Mercutio?

That murderer, which way ran he?

-There lies that Tybalt.

-Up, sir. Go with me.

I charge thee

in the Princes name obey.

Where are the vile beginners

of this fray?

Oh, I am Fortunes fool.

You are married?

If you be married, my grave

is like to be my wedding bed.

Art thou gone so...

love, lord...

aye, husband, friend?

I must hear from thee

every day in the hour...

for in a minute

there are many days.

Oh, by this count

I shall be much in years ere again...

I behold my Romeo.

Farewell.

Oh, thinks thou we shall ever meet again?

Methinks I see thee,

now thou art so low...

as one dead in the bottom of a tomb.

Either my eyesight fails,

or thou looks pale.

Then trust me, love...

in my eyes, so do you.

Dry sorrow

drinks our blood.

Adieu.

Adieu.

Take thou this vial,

being then in bed...

and this distilling liquor

drink thou off.

No warmth, no breath,

shall testify thou livest.

And in this borrowed likeness

of shrunk death...

thou shalt continue

and then awake

as from a pleasant sleep.

What ho! Apothecary!

Come hither, man.

I see that thou art poor.

Hold, there is 40 ducats.

-Let me have a dram of poison...

-Such mortal drugs I have...

but Mantuas law is death

to any he that utters them.

-Art thou so...

-My poverty, but not my will, consents.

I pay thy poverty

and not thy will.

Eyes, look your last.

Arms, take your last embrace.

And, lips,

oh, you, the doors of breath...

seal with a righteous kiss...

the dateless bargain

to engrossing death.

Come, bitter conduct.

Come, unsavoury guide.

Thou, desperate pilot,

now at once...

run on the dashing rocks

thy seasick weary bark.

Heres to my love!

Oh... true apothecary!

Thy drugs are quick.

Thus with a kiss...

I die.

Where is my lord?

I do remember well where I should be,

and there I am. Where is my Romeo?

Dead!

Whats this?

A cup, closed

in my true loves hand?

Poison, I see,hath been

his timeless end.

Oh, happy dagger,

this is thy sheath.

There rust...

and let me die.

A glooming peace

this morning with it brings.

The sun for sorrow

will not show his head.

Go hence, to have more talk

of these sad things.

Some shall be pardoned...

and some punished.

For never was a story

of more woe...

than this of Juliet...

and her Romeo.

Bravo!

-Yea! Yea!

-Yea!

-Bravo!

-Yea! Bravo!

-God save the queen!

-I arrest you in the name of Queen Elizabeth!

Arrest who, Mr. Tilney?

Everyone!

Admirals Men,

the Chamberlains Men...

and every one of you ne'er-do-wells

that stand in contempt...

of the authority vested

in me by Her Majesty!

Contempt? You closed the "Rose".

I have not opened it.

That woman is a woman!

What?

A woman?

You mean that goat?

Ill see you all in Clink, in the name

of Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth!

Mr. Tilney!

Have a care with my name.

You will wear it out.

The queen of England

does not attend...

exhibitions of public lewdness.

So something is out of joint.

Come here, Master Kent.

Let me look at you.

Yes, the illusion is remarkable.

And your error, Mr. Tilney,

is easily forgiven.

But I know something of

a woman in a mans profession.

Yes, by God,

I do know about that.

That is enough from you, Master Kent.

If only Lord Wessex were here.

He is, ma'am.

Y-Your Majesty.

There was a wager I remember...

as to whether a play could show

the very truth and nature of love.

I think you lost it today.

You are an eager boy.

Did you like the play?

I liked it when she stabbed herself,

Your Majesty.

Master Shakespeare.

Next time you come to Greenwich,

come as yourself...

and we will speak some more.

Your Majesty.

Why, Lord Wessex.

Lost your wife so soon?

Indeed I am a bride short...

and my ship sails for the new world

on the evening tide.

How is this to end?

As stories must when loves denied,

with tears and a journey.

Those whom God has joined in marriage

not even I can put asunder.

Master Kent.

Lord Wessex, as I foretold,

has lost his wife in the playhouse.

Go make your farewell

and send her out.

Its time to settle accounts.

-How much was that wager?

-50 shillings.

Pounds.

Give it to Master Kent.

He will see it rightfully home.

Tell Master Shakespeare

something more cheerful next time...

for "Twelfth Night".

Too late.

Too late.

My Lady Wessex.

A hired player no longer.

for the poet of true love.

Im done with theater.

The playhouse is for dreamers.

Look what the dream brought us.

It was we ourselves did that.

And for my life to come,

I would not have it otherwise.

I have hurt you, and Im sorry for it.

If my hurt is to be

that you write no more...

then I shall be the sorrier.

The queen commands

a comedy, Will...

-for "Twelfth Night".

-A comedy.

What would my hero be?

The saddest wretch in all the kingdom,

sick with love?

Its a beginning.

Let him be a duke,

and your heroine...

Sold in marriage

and halfway to America.

At sea, then.

A voyage to a new world.

A storm.

All are lost.

She lands... on a...

vast and empty shore.

Shes brought to the duke...

-Orsino.

-Orsino?

Good name.

But fearful of her virtue,

she comes to him dressed as a boy.

And thus is unable

to declare her love.

But all ends well.

How does it?

I dont know.

Its a mystery.

You will never age for me...

nor fade, nor die.

Nor you for me.

Good-bye, my love.

A thousand times good-bye.

Write me well.

My story starts at sea...

a perilous voyage

to an unknown land.

A shipwreck.

The wild waters roar and heave.

The brave vessel is dashed all to pieces...

and all the helpless souls within her...

drowned.

All save one:

a lady...

whose soul is greater

than the ocean...

and her spirit stronger

than the seas embrace.

Not for her a watery end...

but a new life beginning

on a stranger shore.

It will be a love story,

for she will be my heroine for all time.

And her name will be Viola.

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